


The Things Left Unspoken

by JSinister32



Series: How You'll Find Me [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hannibal is Still Playing Games, Hurt/Comfort, Letter Fiction, Letters From Hannibal, Letters From Will, M/M, Mutual Pining, Will Graham is So Done, unspoken feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSinister32/pseuds/JSinister32
Summary: As year two of Hannibal's incarceration ensues, Will confesses something to him that throws him over the edge of desperation.  Unconvinced that ignoring his feelings for Will is the right course of action, Hannibal continues to write with the hope that Will, his silence now broken, will choose to keep up with his previous responses.Will has found someone new to cling to in his attempts to heal from Italy.  But with Hannibal unwilling to let their connection dissolve, he must decide if he can continue to hold out on his own tumultuous emotions... or if giving in to his desires proves to be what sets him free.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: How You'll Find Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046836
Comments: 66
Kudos: 117





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to my wonderful beta, Emmagan. I will be forever grateful that you take the time to read my stories. To all the wonderful people who stuck with me through the first part of this story, Between the Lines, buckle up. We are in for another ride.
> 
> Hearts and Body Parts,  
> JM 🤍

**January 9th**

  
Written within Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dearest Will,

I would ask how you are, but I believe I already know the answer to that. Instead, I will continue with my usual greeting, and speak to you of the most mundane subject available; the weather. Perhaps, you’ll find that vein of conversation acceptable. The bitterest of cold has finally set into both my confines and my heart. Even though they choose to allow me to light a fire within my cell, it does nothing to warm me where I need it the most. We both know the chill has nothing to truly do with the temperatures surrounding us. It could be the middle of the summer and I would feel the same chill within my very bones. I feel betrayed by you, Will; an even greater pain than I felt as I sliced open your abdomen. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we have this time apart. I am unsure of my emotional stability in the wake of your previous pronouncement, and if I was given the opportunity, I may actually attempt to harm you a third time. I’m not sure you could sustain any further physical scarring at my hands.

I am aware that you requested I discontinue writing to you, and I had every intention of fulfilling your request. However, as I paced the confines of my cell during the holiday hours with few eyes upon me to bear witness to my turmoil, I wondered what kind of friend I would be to not at least inquire about the nature of the woman you are currently courting. How else am I to determine if she is the best choice for you in the time that we are apart? To enlighten me, I have some questions for you. Should you choose to respond to them, I may find I need no further reassurance. If you ignore me, I am afraid I will not be able to believe that you are in the best of hands, and will continue to ask questions until you find it within you to reassure me. The choice is yours, as it has always been.

How did you meet the lucky woman in your life? Did it have anything to do with the trauma you suffered at my capture? I can easily imagine the kind of female companion you’d choose. She’s comfortable, isn’t she? Perhaps unobtrusive. No fire to her personality. No questioning of who you are, of what you’ve done. She’ll be the motherly type, I’m sure. Someone to warm your bed and your loins during the longest nights of the year. The comforts of a human presence you won’t soon grow attached to, although you may go through the motions. Is she intelligent? Do you two have stimulating conversations? Can she withstand your moodiness, your need to prove to yourself that you have everything under control when you’re a bomb waiting to go off? Does she know about me? Have you told her that you will never truly be hers, because you already belong to another?

No. I’m sure these things will slip from your mind like water down a drain in the wake of the simplicity of your relationship with this mystery female. You will choose to tell her enough of who you were and what you chose to leave behind, but it will pale in comparison to the truth of things. When you have your night terrors, when you wake up in an unfamiliar place away from your home, she will nod and make all of the right noises, telling you she understands as she leads you back to your home like a lost lamb that escaped the shepherd. She can never truly understand who you are though, can she? There is so much complexity to your past that it would take a lifetime and the patience of a saint to handle who you were, even inf the wake of who you want to be in the present.

Have you taken up another profession? It is my highest hope for you that you escaped the clutches of the FBI. Jack believes you to be his shining beacon to light his way in the darkness, but even with me behind bars, there will always be another dark corner, another place to reach your hands towards that would just as soon bite your fingers off as they would give up their secrets. I would like to see you put your hands to use in some manual or creative endeavor. You once created fishing lures- have you found the stomach to reopen that passion, or has it continued to elude you because of the memories still somewhere in the shadows? Don’t fret too much upon it, Will. It will all come back to you, if you give it enough time and distance from the things that truly meant you harm.

I want you to know that although I feel as betrayed as I did on the day you fed me to Jack, I understand your need for human companionship far outside what entangled you previously. It must be refreshing to have some distance with a person that knows nothing of your past, save what you choose to share with her. You can create a different narrative, paint a picture of the world as you want it to be, leave behind the convoluted emotions that you must currently be feeling. I have faith that you will discuss what you can. You may even choose to mention me, even if you don’t speak of what we are to one another. After all, how are you to explain to another that your soul mate is the man that gave you the scar upon your brow, the smile on your stomach? We are too complex to even attempt to fully explain, so some things will be best if you choose to leave them where they are for now. When it is time for you to come to me, you’ll be able to brush the dust from those emotions and memories, place them where they belong within you, and we shall begin where we left off, even if we have to discuss the things we left unspoken between us. Time was never on our side; we had far too much excitement for that. It doesn’t mean that it will always be that way, though. I have faith that, when the time is right, we will have all the time in the world.

I know you want a chance to turn a new leaf. I would like to promise I can give you the opportunity to take what has been offered in both hands and run with it, leaving your past trailing far behind you. I know that this will never happen for you. Even if you are content to leave me within my prison, both literally and within your heart, the past has a way of rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune moment. Even if I am willing to let you go, Jack is not. Someday, maybe soon, maybe down the road, he will come knocking. You have never been able to turn away from your perceived duties. You will need me then, and the doors you’re trying to close will blow wide open. Do not be caught unaware. Do not forget me. The rest of the world won’t let you, and it will hurt worse when you have to let go of who you want to be.

I will patiently await your response. I’d suggest not waiting to do so. A little darkness will keep you balanced in the game you’re attempting to master. 

Yours Faithfully,

**Hannibal Lecter**

***

“Will, darling.” A small hand descended on Will’s shoulder, startling him out of his frustrated reverie. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned to meet the warm brown gaze staring at him with something akin to wonder. Molly was a breath of fresh air in the long closed walls of his heart; calm and comforting in ways he didn’t know he needed. Her gentle demeanor never failed to soothe his ragged nerves, even when the night terrors came. Smiling, he set down the wrench and circled her waist, kissing her forehead as she squirmed.

“Sorry Molly, I didn’t hear you,” he replied as he breathed in her clean, sweet scent. “I’m still trying to pull this last bolt.” He gestured to the motor, silently cursing the hunk of metal as it sat on his bench, mocking him. 

“No problem,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I just collected your mail on the way up and you got an unusual letter from Baltimore. I thought you might want to read it right away in case it’s bad news.” Will stiffened, pulling back to take the letter from her hands. His own trembled as he turned it over to inspect the handwriting. _Of course you can_ _’t leave well enough alone,_ he thought, dismayed at the beautiful, curved letters presented to him. _You won_ _’t even let me have this._

“Will, are you okay?” Molly brushed a strand of hair from his pale face, her eyes filled with concern. “Maybe you’d better lie down for a while.” Will nodded, his throat contracting. 

“Yeah, you’re right. This can wait until tomorrow.” Taking her hand, he lead the way back up to the house. He looked once more at the letter clutched within his hand. _I can_ _’t do this, not with her here. But if I don’t read it, it’s just going to eat at me._

“I hate to ask,” he started, unsure of what to say. Molly waited patiently for him to continue, her face still etched with concern. “I’m not feeling well, and I don’t handle others seeing me ill very well,” he finally said. Molly looked briefly confused, then her face opened to a quiet understanding.

“Would it be best if we reschedule our date for tomorrow?” she asked, her arm looped through his as they made their way up the steps. Will nodded, grateful.

“Please. That way, we both enjoy the time we have together.” Molly placed a small kiss on his cheek and ushered him inside, helping him remove his shoes.

“I understand,” she murmured as she gathered her bag. “Call if you need anything, okay? I’m just down the road.” Will smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She tried to kiss him as he walked her to the front door, but he stopped her just before their lips touched.

“Not tonight, just in case I’m sick,” he said. Her eyes remained cloudy as he closed and locked the door, pressing his back to the wood. _I don_ _’t want Hannibal in the room during any of our intimate moments._ Will sighed and picked up the letter from where he had discarded it on his way in. Pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, he took both his tumbler and the letter to the living room. Sinking in front of the fireplace, he began to read.

When he finished, he sat for long minutes, begging his heart to cease its pounding. Without a thought, he sourced his pad of paper and a pen, and sank back to the couch to compose his reply.

* * *

**January 16th**

  
Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Hannibal,

I should have known better than to believe you’d have enough respect for me to leave me alone. While you may believe it to be concern, if we are discussing truths between us, we both know you can’t survive without being in control of everything all the time, especially when it comes to you and me. It is almost a comfort to read words about the weather; its an indication that you aren’t truly as affronted as you pretend to be. I’ll play along, though. It’s definitely hit a new low in the temperature. The trees are dusted in white, and breathing has become more of a chore than it has the right to be. What causes you to be chilled inside? Surely it isn’t just because I’ve found someone else to occupy my time. 

I have not betrayed you, Hannibal. You can’t be betrayed by something that never existed. Your veiled threats do not make me want to close the distance between us. Our time apart, which you seem so determined to believe is finite, will do us both good. You need to learn to control your temper when you’re emotionally compromised. Physical damage can’t be continued to be sustained every time you’re upset with me.

You never had the intention of remaining silent, regardless of what I asked of you. Do not lie to me, Hannibal. It is unbecoming, especially when I asked of you only that you never lie to me. It’s unnecessary to have such misdirection between us when we both know the truth of things. In return, I will pay you the same courtesy. Molly is a balm to help me heal. She is all the things that you are not; kind and patient, nurturing and supportive. We met quite by accident, but the connection we both felt kept us in contact. The change in our intimacy is recent and intensely satisfying. I would not agree that she has no fire to her, but she warms and sustains rather than attempting to consume. She holds her own in our conversations and discussions, and has proven to be nothing but patient during the times I need her the most. She has found me wandering only once; the nightmares seem to recede while I am with her. I find her to adequately fulfill my needs, and she seems to be healing the wounds you left me with. For now, that is all I need.

You ask if she knows about you. She knows enough. You and I both know that neither you nor I can truly reveal what happened between us. I cannot express in words to anybody that isn’t you, what it feels like to be trapped within the web of influence you wove around me. Of course I don’t want to subject her to who I was then, or what hold you had over me at the time. There are some things that only cultivate within the heart of the person who experiences them. Perhaps, you and I will always be tied together because of those experiences. She may not understand every facet of the darkness, but she sees the light within me more clearly than you or anyone else that has come before her has. I am holding onto that with both hands, and plan to keep it as my focus for the coming weeks. I have earned her understanding, Hannibal. I need someone who looks at me without seeing the man that didn’t kill all those people, or the profiler that can solve their cases. A man to toy with, to use and toss away. I deserve more, and if that requires the sin of omission, I’m content with that.

Jack still hasn’t found it within him to reach out to me. I’m grateful. I am not working in any form of law enforcement, but have chosen to take some time to fix the boat motor rotting away in my garage. I may take an extended vacation on the water when it’s finished. Maybe I’ll take Molly with me. She enjoys the outdoors. Maybe I’ll even teach her to fish. If Jack never contacts me again, I’d be content with our final goodbye being the day you were taken into custody. From what I have gathered, he’d prefer to keep that door closed. I buy my lures now, thanks to your gruesome trophies left on mine. Someday, I may find the memory doesn’t hurt so much, though. I could pick up the hobby with ease again, if I can prevent myself from thinking. It will take time, but I seem to have it in excess these days.

I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you. We aren’t friends. We aren’t lovers, although we are tied together more intimately than many couples could ever dream to be. My current budding relationship has no parallels to what you and I experienced. I have told her enough to ensure she doesn’t ask questions, and she is fine with the information with which she has been provided. I don’t need to elucidate every nuance of my past for her to understand it’s just that. I don’t know what will become of you and me, but I will not drag Molly with me into the darkness. She deserves better, and should I prove not able to provide her with the best of me, I will close the necessary doors to ensure she can be happy. That may mean the end of our correspondence. I chose to answer this letter in the hope that you would simply let me be. I can still pray you have it within you to do so. What may have been with time holds no interest for me now, and I suggest you try to let it go as well. It may do you some good while you’re incarcerated.

You have the answers you seek. Should these prove to be unsatisfactory, I can’t guarantee another reply. I can’t continue to hold onto you when I have someone else pulling me away.

Will Graham

***

“Letter for you, Doctor Lecter.” The orderly slid the letter into his cell before Hannibal could stand, negating the need to act with care. Hannibal didn’t bother to approach before the other man continued on his route, delivering scant pages of hope and distraction to those confined within the walls of his prison.

For a long time, Hannibal didn’t stir, instead breathing deeply to calm himself. He recognized the scent of Will’s aftershave, wood smoke and the faintest tinge of mint from Will’s mouth when he sealed the envelope, but refused to show any kind of eagerness for the words contained within, lest the information be used as a punishment later. Instead, he finished the paper he was working on, then calmly walked to the receiving slot to remove the letter. He closed his eyes, holding it to his nose for a brief moment before sliding his finger beneath the seal.

He hardly registered the paper cut that sliced his finger open until the single drop of blood fell upon the paper. Raising his finger to his lips, Hannibal sucked the blood from the wound before pulling the letter from its confines. Taking a seat behind his desk, he threw another log onto his fire before unfolding the sheaf of pages. Taking a deep breath, he settled back into his chair and began to read. The fire burned low before he moved again.


	2. February

**February 5th**

  
Written within Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dearest Will,

As I write this letter, I wonder if the chill that has settled within my heart will ever truly thaw. I cannot bring myself to discuss anything as mundane as the weather, although I know we both take comfort in the repetition of such opening paragraphs. My entire being aches to express what has weighed so heavily on my heart these past weeks, and although I have done my best to keep from sharing my innermost thoughts with you, I find I only truly rest when I have done so. 

I have been thinking of Italy. Bedelia shared my time there during my last sabbatical, yet I was never truly settled with her at my side. It was comforting to speak with someone who has some understanding of the way my mind works, though if she ever believed herself to be my psychiatrist, she was sorely misguided in her perspective of our relationship. I used her as a sounding board, someone to talk with that, once in a great while, might be able to glean some knowledge about me that I did not wish to see. In this one task, she was beyond reproach. It was she that helped me confront the depth of my emotions when it comes to you. Even when you attempted to carry out your revenge for my actions against both you and Abigail, it was she that brought me to the conclusion that what I felt could only be experienced with a level of love. For her many faults, she is quite talented at reflecting those things we seek to keep buried within us. I both admire and loathe her for her abilities.

I have never ceased to wish it was you walking the streets of Palermo with me, Will. There are so many things I wish to show you within the high white walls of my favorite city. We got to experience a brief moment of happiness and clarity within Uffizi, but had it been my decision, I would have lead you though the Palazzo, taken you dancing and dining, fallen asleep with you next to me. We could have watched the stars pass from the windows of my apartment, I could have recited for you the bloodier parts of Italian history without the worry that I was boring you. I believe, should we ever have the opportunity to travel together, we will find more ways to enjoy each other’s company than simple proximity. There is so much I would still enjoy doing, but I can now only envision those moments with you by my side. What do you make of such an emotional discovery? What did you do to change me that I have yet to uncover? These questions haunt me as I try to sleep to the sound of the lunatics screaming down the hallways. All this time and I’m still unable to block out the sound. Perhaps its the fox in me, waiting for the cry of my supper.

Do you like to dance, Will? Does your companion? Perhaps she should teach you, or you her. It may help bring some validity to the house of cards your relationship with her is built upon.

The holiday of hearts is swiftly approaching. Have you been with your female long enough that you’ll be exchanging gifts? What will you give her, Will? What will she give you? Do you remember the gift I left for you in the Palazzo? It isn’t every day that you’re left with a corpse turned into an origami human heart, but when you broke mine so thoroughly with your betrayal of me to Jack, I felt it fitting that I carve you a piece of myself in the flesh of another. I knew you’d understand the sentiment, even if you didn’t particularly approve of my methods and execution. You broke my heart, and I left you a Valentine written on a broken man. A poetic and fitting end to ensure we had a new beginning.

Speaking of Valentine’s Day, do you have plans with the woman of your dreams? Is she the woman of your dreams, Will? She must have some kind of pull over you, for she has distracted you in a way that nobody else has managed, including your poor attempts to woo Alana before I took her from you. I had no true desire for her, which I’m sure you’ve surmised. I wanted her because you wanted her, and she wanted to be yours to some extent. I simply sought to change the direction of her desires, and she let me. Although you never had the chance to consummate your affections, I can tell you that you were always present when we were intimate. I believe I speak for both Doctor Bloom and myself when I say that some ghost of you always clung to our couplings, as if you had psychically forced your way between us. I did not mind, but I am sure it made it difficult for her. She chose correctly when she decided that Margot was more suited to her taste. She never could understand my fascination with you, nor yours with me. Perhaps, that’s for the best. 

Back to the topic at hand. What special thing do you plan to do to woo your lady fair? Romance is dead in this day and age. I hope you find some way of reviving it. Perhaps you could take her to the locations you solved crimes for the FBI. Or point out the office in which we made our introductions. Make a drive by my office and explain to her that, although she is the woman you currently hold in your embrace, your relationship with her is, at best, temporary. Have you discussed with her the nature of our association yet, or are you saving that sliver of information for when you’re angry with her? Its bound to come up eventually. It would be best if she hears it from you., or at least less upsetting.

On another note, I’ve been thinking on the origin of the mythology behind soulmates. It’s said that when humans were first formed from clay, we were given four arms and four legs, two heads on two necks. Zeus, fearing the power of such beings, separated each pair, thus forcing them to wander the earth for their lifetimes, always searching for their other half, but rarely finding it, thus surviving, but never truly living. We will never such a fate. You are my other half, Will. You may not want to admit it now, but you will need to come to terms with it eventually. Do you not feel the pull to me, even with the distance between us? Do you think of me although we haven’t spoken face to face for more than a year? Do you remember the sound of my voice, read my letters while playing the words in my timbre? It won’t do to lie to yourself, or to me. I know you well enough to understand that, while you may not wish it to be true, you and I are tied inexorably by the red strings of fate. You are mine, wholly and completely. Molly is a placeholder until we can be together. Do not grow too attached. I fear for her safety if you do.

Oh, and one more thing. If I had the opportunity to dine on you at this time, I would not begin with your brain. I have decided that I’d much rather have your heart.

Yours,

**Hannibal Lecter**

***

Will reread the letter that had arrived in his mailbox just hours before, wishing to god he had stopped to pick up another bottle of whiskey. Things between him and Molly had progressed nicely since the previous letter; he had managed to explain some of his connection with Hannibal the Cannibal to her, and she had thankfully taken his confession in stride, insisting it didn’t bother her in the slightest.

“Your stories keep things interesting, darling,” she had murmured against his shoulder. “Although… don’t tell Walter until he’s older? He doesn’t need to hear such gruesome tales.” Will had smiled and agreed, relieved she had been so easygoing in his involvement with another man. Now, staring at the words on the sheafs of paper he had pulled from the wax sealed envelope, he could feel the fragility of their relationship, the stress these letters would place upon it each time they showed up. _It doesn_ _’t matter though, does it?_ He thought bitterly. _You_ _’re going to respond, because you can’t bring yourself to ignore him, not knowing that he’s reaching for you in anger. You don’t know what influences he has access to, how much harm he can cause, even while incarcerated._

Will sighed and picked up his pen, the warmth of the fire barely registering as he penned his reply.

***

**February 11th**  


Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Hannibal,

Don’t you believe yourself to be a bit dramatic with your pontificating over the chill that’s settled into your heart? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the lack of emotional response was always there. You like to play to see what will happen if you poke this button or that, but you don’t truly feel the repercussions of such actions, or you’d have ceased contact when I asked it of you. Alas, I can’t seem to leave you alone either, even if it costs me what I am trying so hard to build outside of the mess you and the FBI left me in. Either way, we now suffer together.

I can’t say I’ve seen much of Doctor Du Maurier since we’ve returned to the states. She’s laying low in hopes that you’ll forget about her, much as a cat forgets the mouse that creeps quietly by. I understand she’s writing an autobiography to benefit from the time you held her captive and drugged in Italy. I have a feeling that, by the end of your trial and conviction, you may end up with more autographed books than most collectors of such things, especially because you’ll be the subject matter. Both Bedelia and Frederick are already working on their publishing deals. They get the credit while you rot in a cage. Even I consider that kind of behavior rude. Its almost unfortunate you’ll be able to do nothing about it, but I know better than most that you have a long memory.

As to your details of how Bedelia helped you come come to the uncomfortable realization that you may actually possess emotions, I do not believe that what you feel for me is love. An unhealthy obsession, sure. A need to make me understand you because I have the ability to empathize, most definitely. But love? No. You are Narcissus, Hannibal. You love only yourself and seek out others who can enhance the experience. It bothers you that I refuse to feed your ego in the way to which you’ve grown accustomed. Try to keep in mind that Narcissus drowned due to his obsessions with himself, Hannibal. Be careful to keep your eye on something beyond your own desires, or you’ll fall too.

For all the faults you have, I still regret that I did not follow you away from my life as I knew it. I clung to the last remnants of light left to me with both hands and closed eyes, believing I cared enough to save you from your cage and those who wanted to place you inside it. I should have realized that the very idea that you should be free meant I was beyond saving, that I had managed to travel so far from the light I tried to hold onto. I wanted to be where you were more than I wanted my moral high ground, and even when you gutted me, I knew that I would chase you to the ends of the earth and beyond, if only to be in your presence a little longer. You may not be capable of love, but it doesn’t mean I share your deficiency. I did change you. I made you aware of the fact that you’re capable of feeling, a profound realization if there ever was one. You have to learn to direct those feelings on your own, and without the satisfaction you feel when we are feeding from one another. I want more than anything to watch the stars in the skies with you, Hannibal. I want it so much, I have to force myself to stay away from you. I no longer have the self control to avoid writing to you and sending the letters onward to be read by you, but as of now, I can stop myself from seeking your freedom. I have a firm grasp on the consequences that would occur if you were once again given the opportunity to roam the world.

I have no desire to further discuss my current relationship with you. You have what knowledge you need to understand its nature; you do not need details to needle me with whenever you see fit. As to your origami heart… your gruesome gift left for me in Italy was enough for me to identify you as the killer. You have never had a specific style, minus surgical precision and the desire to keep trophies you could later consume. I find it amusing that you believe I broke your heart. You carved me up on more than one occasion, left me with scars I’ll never be able to heal, yet I’m the one to blame for your inability to control your homicidal tendencies. If I was your voice of reason, we would make a poor pair. The world would thrive without our influence. Surely, you understand that. You broke a man to express your displeasure in me. You knew I’d recognize the nature of the kill, even if I wasn’t in Italy, and come running straight into your web. Little did you know, I was already searching for you in the very place you resided. 

I still wish you would have made your presence known in the catacombs. I would have given anything to see your face that night.

I understand now that you’ve done whatever you can to isolate me from every influence that could have been positive to my mindset. Those influences may have had the power to free me from your clutches, and I know you would have just as soon killed me as allowed that to happen. You stole Alana, although I agree that she and Margot suit one another. You isolated me from Jack and took Abigail from me in the most cruel way you could devise. I have since come to the realization that you have done these things out of jealousy. You wanted me to yourself, your toy to wind and point, let loose upon the world with murderous intent. The idea that I could find safety and comfort in anyone but you is inconceivable. I knew on some instinctive level that this was why you chose to court Alana; thank you for the confirmation. It gives me more reason to ensure you know nothing else of my relationship with Molly.

I will not be taking her on a tour of what you would consider my greatest hits. I plan to make new memories with her, not wallow in past mistakes. I know that must be difficult for you to understand, but eventually, it will sink in. She does not need to know every gory detail of my past to know me. She will make me better than I was before, stronger for her lack of understanding. I do not know how long our relationship will last, but I do know I find a level of comfort and safety in her I did not feel before. I will cling to it and hope that I can shed who I was with you like a skin on a snake. I don’t want to dwell, Hannibal. I want to live.

I am familiar with the concept of soulmates. I found comfort in my youth that there might be someone out there that would save me from myself, and that one day, I might be lucky enough to find him or her. I do admit that I feel a loss without you here. I often visit your home, just to sit in the hallway and fondly remember the conversations we shared. I think about the calming sound of your voice and often block out the actual words. Your demeanor is heaven, but the things you influenced me with were poison. How could you want what you offered for the one person made for you in all the world? We may be fated to see our association out to the bitter end, but I refuse to believe that even you would treat the person that is your other half as you’ve treated me. Perhaps, if you want something between us in the future, that should be the focus of your recovery.

And if you were eating me in this moment, my heart would not be yours to consume. My mind already belongs to you. I suggest you make due.

**Will Graham**

***

Alana approached the glass, an envelope held high. Hannibal watched her with hooded eyes, wishing with his entire being that he had chosen to end her when she pointed the gun at him. _I must endure her games for now. She_ _’s the reason I’m able to experience any form of comfort._

“Letter came for you from Will,” she murmured, slipping the envelope into the receiving slot. “I’m afraid you won’t be particularly thrilled with the contents. Hannibal snorted delicately, approaching the glass only as she backed away.

“Contact is a sign that he has not given up on me, Alana,” he replied conversationally. “He may believe he has some semblance of control, but it’s evident by his choices that he is still mine.” Alana nodded and turned, making her way out of the room without another word. Hannibal took the letter to his desk and closed his eyes, holding it to his nose. He took slow, deep breaths, drawing from the paper Will’s scent; wood cuttings, outdoors, and snow. _There you are, darling. There you are._

Hannibal carefully unfolded the papers with a smile, devouring another of Will’s feeble attempts at distancing himself from their courtship. When he finished, he folded the letter and set it on his desk and turned once again to study the fire. He stayed that way until the bell chimed, signaling his next meal was to be brought. _Excellent. Hopefully, it will be something as tasty as Will_ _’s protestations._ Without a word, he folded himself into position against the wall, his eyes drifting closed. In his head, they were waltzing through the foyer of his memory palace, Will’s eyes bright and happy. They continued to dance, even as he consumed the food that had been brought. The vision stayed with him, even into sleep.


	3. March

**March 13th**

Written within Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Will,

I am loathe to admit it, but penning these monthly letters has become something of a time stamp for me. Time is fluid here, so I must find my tally marks where I can. It is unthinkable that we are so quickly approaching Spring. The weather around my cage thaws, bringing with it the hope for change; a new beginning. I can smell the pollen from the trees as they begin to blossom. Each time I receive a visitor or the good doctor emerges from outside, I am gifted with the brief opportunity to experience that new burst of life for myself. Even within my confines the possibilities are endless, even if the cycles of life and death remain the same. Do you feel the ebb and flow around you as I do? Every stage has a marked ending though, Will. Please do not lose sight of that as you attempt to begin anew.

Your previous letter leads me to believe that you have convinced yourself that one day, you will be free of even the mere memory of me. There are very few things that are as humorous to me as this. Surely you know by now that this is not to be. The walls that confine me will not do so forever. There is nothing on this earth that has enough of a hold to prevent the same outcome as before when we are free to seek one another once again. Have you told your paramour about what we experienced together? I know I have asked this question previously, but I remain unsatisfied by your response. Is she aware of how close to the darkness you once resided? Relationships such as the one you two are building are best when constructed upon a foundation of trust. A lack of transparency can lead to scars, Will. How many do you plan to leave her with? Will any of them match your own?

I have been reminiscing about the night of your first betrayal. More precisely, I’ve been thinking about the time we shared prior to that fateful night. Do you remember the words I spoke to you after I opened you up to bleed for your crimes? Even if you’d like to deny what I gifted you with in our time together, I know you cannot do so, not in good conscience. When I told you that I let you know me, see me as I am… I was not being glib. When I think upon it, I am surprised at how far behind the curtain you were able to see. Have you any idea how little others actually know of who I am? I shared my body with Alana, took pleasure in her pleasure, yet she never delved so deep into me as we did together. The topics you and I traversed have been kept out of my conversations for so long, I didn’t know I still thought upon such subjects until you knocked upon their door. Mischa, of course, is remembered fondly, although she is safely confined within the walls of my memory palace. Her name has not spilled from my lips in decades. Yet you asked the correct questions, and pulled her name and story from me like a rabbit from a hat, the whole sorry, sad affair that made me as I am. She was the light of my life, a spot of sunlight that cast away the shadows that eventually engulfed my heart. I hold her more dear than any other being I have ever managed to care for. She is sacred to me, and to speak of her to you… it means something. Do you understand?

We conversed often of our opposing views of the world. I believe god to be a natural sadist. My collection of church collapses adds credence to this theory. Are you aware of how many people are familiar with my beliefs concerning our supposed creator? Can you hazard a guess? The answer is not one, but it is close. Our discussions of time reversal, not only to create the catalyst for Mischa’s triumphant return, but to allow Abigail to reemerge at your side, whole and unblemished, is another idea I shared with you and you alone. My practice of dropping teacups, just to see if they’ll gather themselves back together… only you know of this, Will. Even my endeavors into seeking therapy with Doctor Du Maurier did not include the secret trappings of my heart. You have been the sole guardian of knowledge concerning the inner workings of Hannibal Lecter for years, yet of this secret, you had no idea. You have been the only person I’ve deemed worthy of true companionship, someone to whom I’ve been able to divulge the fears I hold, the regrets I’ve had. You alone hold the keys, Will. It is both liberating and frightening to admit that you have such power over me. 

Although she was alive when we spoke of her, I do regret what happened to Abigail, both before you were made aware that she still lived and after she perished. I gave you the world you wished for; family, a chance at a life together. Home, in the truest sense of the word. We could have had it all together, the three of us. You chose to destroy the possibility. I have often wondered what you would have done if I had trusted you sooner with the knowledge that Abigail was still alive. Would we have had our chance at happiness, or would you have attempted to have everything I provided without me present to enjoy the fruits of my labors? I did not want to kill her, Will. She is my one great regret, especially because of what it did to the relationship between you and me. The illusion was not meant to be reality, though. That much I’ve been willing to admit, at least in the words I share with you.

I have often wondered what would have happened if you arrived prior to Jack. Even without the return of our child, would you have taken a table with us? Played the sous chef, helped me finalize the preparations for Jack’s symbolic last supper, taken a seat beside him as I sharpened the blade? Would you have held him in place for me while I cut into his throat? I know you’d like to believe that such actions are beneath you, but I do not agree. You warned me that Jack was made aware of who and what I am. You chose to do so, why? Because we are friends? Because you did not wish to see me without my freedom? Predators are not meant to be contained, Will. I do not believe you realized it until the end. Your regret was as palpable as your disbelief and fear when you arrived to rescue… Jack from the aftermath, or me from his clutches? I have not had the chance to ask you. Whose side were you on that night? Would you have harmed me, or would we have followed through with our plan and left together? Can you answer me with honesty? Can you at least be honest with yourself?

Have you any idea how much it pained me to slide my knife into your belly? There are many moments I remember from the life I’ve chosen to live, but there are very few that can cause me pain or shame by recalling them. While carving into your skull is high on that list, it is not the action I regret the most. The look on your face when my blade cut through skin… it troubles me. It stayed in the forefront of my mind in Italy, tainted my time there although I would not have admitted it. Perhaps it is the main cause of my valentine left for you in the church. Bedelia often tried to bring my infatuation with you to my attention, but she grew tiresome in her efforts. I knew that I had regrets where we are concerned. They ate at me, enveloped the part of me that can feel remorse and shame. I did not wish to harm you, not really. The early experiments to which you were an unwilling participant were reversible when no longer needed, but I can never take back the scar I have given you. I wanted very much to visit you before I left for Italy, see you as you lay in a coma on your hospital bed. I wanted to tell you that I am sorry for those moments of darkness that could have been prevented, had I been able to keep my temper under control. Even now, it haunts me that I caused you that level of pain.

My greatest hope is that when it is time, you will have abandoned the façade that we are strangers. Parts of us have been so close, its as if we have shared our skin. There is sex, of course, and there is making love. Sex is easily procurable. Making love only exists between two people who are willing to give anything, do anything for their continued association. They are conjoined, even when they are apart. I know you understand what I write, Will. You will deny it until you have to face me again, and when you do, you will still be mine. Give Molly my condolences, and do not grow so attached that I will wish her harm. Goading me to action would not be wise for either of you.

I remain faithfully yours,

**Hannibal Lecter**

***

“If the letters upset you so, why do you keep reading them? What is it about him that you can’t seem to let go?” Will sighed, the newest parchment clutched to his chest as if to fend off a blow. _If only I could explain in a way that made any sense,_ he thought dismally. _My need for this connection to him_ _… it doesn’t make sense to me either._

The days they shared between the letters passed blissfully, their hearts grew closer than Will would have thought possible when they met. Walter filled a hole within him that he hadn’t realized he still had. The gaping chasm that Abigail had once occupied seemed to close a little with each smile they shared, each fishing trip they took together. In ways he never thought he’d feel again, Will was human once more.

Until each letter arrived, smelling of wood smoke and sealing wax, the slight, fresh scent of Hannibal’s skin. Whenever a new envelope appeared, all the work they put in dissolved into dust. Will knew that Molly tried to keep her concern from spilling forth, but it was becoming more and more clear that there would only be room for one of them in their relationship. The problem remained that Will wouldn’t be able to choose between them.

“It isn’t that they upset me, and you know it,” he retorted. His fingers slid over the parchment in his hand, caressing it as if it were a lover. She watched the progression of his fingers, disgust etched plainly into her features.

“Is he always going to exist in your life?” she asked quietly. “Will he continue to be there, even if we move forward? Will your past always lurk beneath the surface?” Will turned away from her, closing his eyes before he replied.

“I understand that it’s difficult for me to explain in a way that makes any kind of sense…” he began. He didn’t have to finish. Molly was already collecting her things and without another word, she made her way to her car.

“One day, you will owe me a full explanation,” she finally said. “For now, I’ll try to be more sympathetic. But it won’t last forever. Someday, you’ll have to make that decision… or I’ll make it for us.” She climbed behind the driver’s seat and started the engine. Will stood where he was until he could no longer hear the sound of her car as it wound away from his property. He took a deep breath and made his way inside, his fingers still caressing the letter clutched in his fist.

A half bottle of whiskey and several reads later, he found his notepad and a pen. Sitting before the fire, he composed his reply.

**March 19th**

Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Hannibal,

I’m drunk, and will likely refrain from reading this response before sending it to you. I’m unsure that I will want to know what I write, and I feel that you deserve the truth of how I feel, even if I don’t want to admit it, even to myself. Molly left a while ago. She says you’re the ghost that haunts me, the letters the reason I can’t seem to move forward. Part of me thinks she’s right. Part of me wants to tell you to go to hell, and use every letter you’ve sent as combustion material to start my fires. Part of me understands that I’ll never be able to do it. I cherish your words, even though I loathe them with equal conviction.

It amuses me that you always choose to speak of the weather. If I were to psychoanalyze you doctor, I’d say the constant need to discuss such a mundane subject stems from your inability to experience it as it’s meant to be. Because of this, you rely on those around you to reconnect you with the world outside your cell. Would I be correct in my assessment? Does it earn me my gold star, Doc? I’ll indulge you of course, but only because it amuses me so. The leaves haven’t quite returned to the trees here. I believe they’re in mourning, maybe in alignment with their owner. I don’t feel as if I’m ready to leave the cold behind, not just yet. Perhaps they’re clinging onto Winter for me. Something about knowing you’re happy to smell the roses, as it were, is incredibly endearing. I would never use that word if I hadn’t had so much to drink, but it seems to fit right now. Something about it makes you human, no longer the figure from the legends, the monster of Italy. No, you’re a man who desires small comforts, like the scent of the spring blossoms as the wind blows your hair into a wild disarray around your face. I can clearly picture it if I close my eyes.

The wheel is at its beginning for most of the world, yes. But not for me. Not at this time. I’m still in some kind of emotional stasis. I think it’s beginning to drive Molly away, but I don’t know how to keep her close without lying to her. As you were so kind to remind me, I have to be completely transparent in who we were so there are no surprises when I have trouble moving forward. I have to ask- if you believe in cycles, how do you know that ours isn’t at a close? There are annual plants that are only alive for a single season before they are gone forever. Perhaps the same can be said for our association. It could just as easily draw to a close if we let it. I have the feeling that neither of us has enough self control to do so, but there’s always the possibility that she will mean more than you do, if given enough time and distance. What would you do if that were to happen? If, by some miracle, you were to escape your prison and find that I am happy with someone else, would you allow me to remain so, or would you ensure I can’t be happy without you? You concentrated your efforts on isolating me before. With things as they are now, would you choose to do the same? I can admit, in my inebriated state, that if you asked, I would likely come with you. I wanted it so badly before. I don’t know if I’d be able to resist the request a second time. Does that factor into your response? If I ever left Molly… I would leave her with as little of me as possible. She doesn’t need my ghost haunting her forever. No note. Very few scars. Almost polite.

The night of MY betrayal, you call it? You realize we spent most of our time together creating the world’s most complicated game of chicken, right? I constantly thought you were luring me into your clutches, you believed that I might belong to you, but didn’t trust it enough to test it. We betrayed each other simultaneously. It’s why we are so inexorably entwined, conjoined by the heart and our bloodied past. There is so much left unsaid between us, so many hurts that need to be addressed and corrected. It took two of us to arrive at where we are. Will you continue to deny the part you played?

I remember clearly the things we shared. I also recall with varying degrees of clarity the fact that you allowed me to continue to suffer with a brain fever so you would have a patsy to fall back on when your previous crimes came back to haunt you. You fed me our child’s ear, Hannibal. That’s a difficult act to forgive and forget. I am grateful that you shared your past with me. It kept me enthralled enough to avoid killing you outright. I realized, with each attempt, that if I were to be successful in removing you from the world, it would be a poorer place for it. I would miss you, you bastard. What does that say about me?

I have to ask, because I believe us to be beyond games about our past. Did you choose Alana because I kissed her? Would she have interested you if it hadn’t been for her connection to me? I’ll admit that while you had her fooled, she made an excellent ally for you, but would you have given her the opportunity to be your lover and advocate if it weren’t for my initial interest?

I should take the time now, while I am filled with the kind of bravery only alcohol can provide, to admit that I’m jealous. I’m just not sure in which direction that jealousy leans.

I had no idea that you never discussed Mischa and her terrible and untimely demise with anyone else. I had always assumed that what you chose to tell me directly correlated with what it could do for you in terms of either fooling me into believing we are close, or lowering my own defenses enough to reveal something equally painful, thus providing you with additional ammunition to later use against me. I am humbled that you’d choose to reveal so much of yourself to me. I can’t begin to imagine how painful your sister’s loss was, and I’ve been to the Lecter estate, witnessed the fate of her last remaining tormentor. Chiyoh never told me if it was by her design or yours that he remained there, but I am sure that either way, it must have provided some comfort that he remained the shell he was for such a length of time. Although I later released him, in hopes of freeing Chiyoh from her obligation to your sister’s ghost, I believe he served his sentence for a shorter duration than what he deserved.

It seems we have the ability to bring things forth from one another that we’d rather keep buried. I’m not sure how I feel about this ability as it pertains to either of us.

You are incorrect in your belief that we feel differently about God and his wrathful inclinations. The difference lies in how we react to the damage he wreaks upon the masses. You delight in it. I tolerate it as a necessary evil that balances the universe. This is where we have always been at odds with one another. I don’t enjoy violence and bloodshed as you do. It may always prove to be a point of contention between us. I don’t know if you would be able to come to terms with my lack of appetite for your extracurricular activities, or my disinclination for participation.

I think it would be unwise for me to speak about Abigail in my current state. I miss her, Hannibal. I miss her like I miss you; she could have been our legacy, part of our home, and in a bitter rage, you snuffed her from the world, like blowing out a candle. She completed a part of me that was missing, and I don’t know if anything we are moving forward will fill that void. I can’t talk about it any more than that, not now. I don’t care if you have regrets, although it’s a relief to know that her passing doesn’t make you happy. There is no gathering of teacups for her. There can be no time reversal, no miracle to bring her back to us. That part of who we could have been is gone. Please, let it go.

Although it didn’t happen that way, I find your question about the progression of events that lead to our fall to be a fair one. Had I arrived prior to Jack… I would likely have tried to convince you to leave. It was when I found out that he was on his way that I realized the world would not be right without your existence as you are. I wanted you more than I wanted my morality. I wanted to see the world at your side more than I hoped for Jack’s survival. I would have told you I changed my mind, that we could slip away before he arrived for dinner. I hope that you would have been happy enough with the arrangement to agree. I think you would have, because I would have been following you to the ends of the earth, just as you wanted.

Had I arrived without the ability to convince you to leave? I still wanted you more. I still want you more, even with everything that’s happened. I want Italy and France, I want the darkness. That’s why I have to try for something else. I can’t give in to those base desires, not when I still have so much to offer the light. Then, I would have gone with you, no questions asked. Now? I’d still go with you. I wouldn’t hesitate or look back. Instead, I hide from you in the vain hope that you’ll forget.

I don’t believe you when you say that cutting me caused you pain. You knew that the damage you inflicted wouldn’t kill me. Why would you regret it? Quid pro quo has always been a favorite coping mechanism of yours; you and God have that in common. You thought to consume me as well. Would you have gone through with it if you hadn’t been interrupted by the Polizia? I believe it would be the same as it was with Abigail; you’d only find your regret when the damage was irreversible. That is no way to exist, Hannibal. Your feigned regret is unbecoming. I have a feeling that, given the opportunity, you’d enjoy stroking the scars you left, studying them the way you study art. A tapestry of pain of which you are the artist.

We are not strangers. I could never pretend to not know you. When I am sober and I have someone else in my arms, I can pretend that the bandage I hold to my chest isn’t bleeding out. I can create another world for a time, a world where you don’t hold sway over my heart. We have never been as physically close as you describe, and I don’t know what would happen to us if we tried. Perhaps, we would burn one another to ash, so bright would be our passion. Maybe we would find some kind of dark balance, a place where we could truly live. I still hold out hope that I never have to make the choice. Molly is my bandage, Hannibal. She is the shield that keeps me from falling. She is not, nor will she ever be your replacement.

**Will Graham**

***

The orderly moved quietly to Hannibal’s cell, the tray held carefully in her hands to prevent them from shaking. She had only been inside this area twice and already she regretted asking for the detail. Although the former doctor fascinated her, she was more afraid of him than she had been of anyone in her life.

She met the officers with a nod, and Hannibal was secured to the cell bars until the tray had been placed. She scurried out of the cell, leaving the officers to release the beast back into his cage. Their eyes met for the briefest moments as she passed by; the experience stayed with her for what remained of her shift, into the cold night air that surrounded her as she made her way to her vehicle that evening.

Later, while safely ensconced in her own home, protected by three locks and a deadbolt on the main door, she thought about what she had seen that had so unnerved her. Everyone had warned her to avoid talking to Doctor Lecter, even if he was to speak to her first. They told her he was the devil and his crimes, if they were true, attested to the claim.

None of this bothered her. She knew what she had been getting herself into when she took the job at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane. 

What ate at her as she sat at her kitchen table, spooning soup into her mouth without tasting it, was the fact that Hannibal Lecter, the Cannibal himself, had had tears in his eyes when their gazes met. They tracked unchecked down his face, his eyes two drowning pools of the emotions they claimed he didn’t possess. The knowledge that he wasn’t a mindless beast, but thought and felt as any other human could…

It froze her blood in her veins. Cold calculation was easy to understand, even anticipate. A psychopath that had the capacity to feel could prove deadly. The orderly washed her dishes before making her way through the house, leaving lights on in every room she passed. The hottest water she could produce did nothing to remove the chill left behind by the tear stained, blood and gold gaze that met her own. 

The hospital found itself with a vacancy in its staff the next morning. It proved quite the difficulty to find someone willing to fill it, but when they did, the large man that called himself Barney would prove more than up to the task. 

They never heard from the young woman again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter addition puts me just over a half a million words of writing for this fandom. Thank you all who take the time to read my stories. I couldn't have found so much to say without your love and encouragement.
> 
> Hearts and Body Parts,  
> 🤍JM


	4. April

**April 3rd**

Written within Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Will,

Would it interest you to know that I considered using a more familiar term of endearment? I have come to the conclusion that, until absolutely necessary, I do not wish to upset the tightrope upon which you currently balance. I am not available to care for you if you take a tumble. I will also refrain from commenting on your state of inebriation from your last letter in the hope that you choose to write again while under the influence. Although I doubt you show yourself the same courtesy, you are far more honest with me when you lower your inhibitions.

On that note, your amusement for my running commentary on the weather is endearing. Should you choose to go out of your way to make psychological assumptions about my choice in neutral topics, I’d like to remind you that in previous letters, I have made this connection for you. I feel isolated from any tangible sense of freedom within the confines of my cell. After all, no matter how plush my surroundings, I’m still in a cage; others can come and stare and make inferences to the motives of my actions, all without acknowledging that I’m still a person, albeit twisted and warped, given their limited capacity to understand. The lack of true human interaction has been the most distancing aspect of my incarceration.

I should also mention that I am aware that it eases you into our literary discourse. Such an innocuous topic puts you at ease, and keeps you reading, doesn’t it? Therefore, the weather does its job without issue.

However, if you’d like a reward for you assumptions, I’m sure we can find you something better than a gold star, but I digress.

We have come through another month with warmer weather. Have your trees ceased their mourning? Are you standing in your grove with the wind rifling through your hair, picturing me by your side? Perhaps I am a monster, but I have never been one to deny myself the tactile comforts of the world around me. You should make the time to stop and smell the roses, Will. You’d find it freeing.

If you believe for an instant that you can compare us to plant life with any degree of sincerity, you must also acknowledge that we are in fact, not any type of life that has only a single cycle. There will be times where we wax in intimacy; proximity dictates these precious moments, of course. There will also be our periods of stasis; we currently are experiencing such an epoch. In the time that we have known one another, we have had such cycles before, although not to such an extreme as this. It does not mean we are at an end, just frozen within a moment. Our time will come, whether you wish to recognize the truth of what I say. It is up to you to prepare yourself for the inevitability.

I do not wish for you to be isolated from those around you, and I’m quite surprised you’d jump to such a conclusion with the limited data you have at your disposal. I want very much for you to be happy, but you have a tendency to settle for contentment. They are not dissimilar, but neither are they synonymous. You deserve more than mediocrity, which is all your current social circle will ever be able to provide. I offer you the chance to become who you truly are, but you still have to choose the path. I can stand before you with a lantern forever, but you must make the decision to be by my side when we retreat into the darkness, as you call it. For now, if you wish to settle with comfort and familiarity, such as what you find in Molly, that is your choice. I will not condemn you for it.

I do not deny the part I played in what occurred between us. In fact, I take a great deal of blame for the choices I forced you to make. I will not take responsibility for your indecision. Honesty is a razor wire, one on which we all must find balance. Should we tip to either side, the results could prove deadly and disastrous. You deliberately put yourself on the side of the Almighty Good; this ideal that you’ve concocted that you and I cannot exist on the same side without being evil. Had you been as honest with me as you claimed to be, we may have found a way to exist together within the grey, a melding of our ideals. Instead, you deceived me. You may imagined that you could outsmart me, but you’ve never been capable of such an act. I will always understand your mind and motives, and you have not taken the time to discover mine. I have to declare them before you, lay them at your feet for you to take any interest. Even then, you still manage to miscalculate who I am and what I desire. There are many facets to every person, and I believe you’d find the depths within who I am worth the excavation. You say we are conjoined by the heart, but I believe that to be one sided. If you felt the same, you wouldn’t rail against it, gnashing your teeth as you are.

Would it surprise you to know that when we met, I had no intention of feeling as I do for you? My emotions where you are concerned are both inconvenient and unpredictable. I do not enjoy the aspect of uncertainty presented with knowing you, but I am also aware that it is unavoidable. I cannot leave you alone, nor can I escape your attempts to forget me. I say attempts because we both know that I speak the truth. You cannot walk away any more than I can. As Pazzi told you, the part of you that doesn’t belong with me is already dead. You just refuse to disconnect from it. It would serve you better to cease the tiresome game you’re playing. You are unequipped and unprepared, nor do you know the rules. We both know you won’t be successful in your endeavors.

In the interest of honesty, my affections towards Alana had nothing to do with you, at least not on a conscious level. I did not purposely make advances towards her to hurt you. I dislike being the bearer of bad news, but you and Alana were never meant to be. Had she and I not become intimate, it does not mean you and she would have. Alana presented an interesting obstacle for me to circumvent, and by keeping her close to me, I was able to also keep her blind to my intentions towards those in her charge; primarily, Abigail. I wanted to continue my treatment and experimentation in Abigail’s becoming without Alana’s interference. It worked until you finally convinced her of my true machinations. Do not for a moment believe that I took any true interest in sex with her. While beautiful and interesting, rest assured, she is not my type. Make of that what you will.

As you have chosen not to discuss Abigail, neither will I discuss Mischa. We have exhausted the subject of my origins and the catalyst that turned me towards what you deem the my sinister pathology. We will not continue to traverse the same ground in hopes of gleaning additional information. However… Chiyoh. She chose her own fate when she refused to kill the man who took Mischa’s life. She did not believe in murder, but it seems that even she could be manipulated in the end, just not by my hand. You found a way to end her incarceration in the graveyard of my previous home. I commend you for your efforts.

Will, if you believe you simply tolerate and take what God metes out to you, you haven’t properly examined your actions for the past five years. You do not take what anyone gives you; you snarl and dig your heels into the dirt, driving away anyone that might be able to help you face the world’s injustices. I enjoy the chaos and destruction that God consistently provides. You have your own form of targeted violence, and it’s often directed at those you love, including yourself. That is still participation; you just attach morality to your actions when it isn’t necessary. If you’d simply accept your nature, you’d be the master of your own universe, unimpeded by the useless rules of mankind. Stop caging yourself in, and stop trying to blame me for your imbalances. They existed before me; I am simply a convenient target for your frustrations.

Your honesty concerning your motives of the night we lost Abigail is refreshing, although it comes so late. We still have time, Will. You may believe you have escaped the fate that awaited you with me, but you know we will meet again. The choice to remain as you are or come with me will once again be laid at your feet. You will have to decide what is most important to you. I can only pray that you come to terms with who you are by then. I cannot force your hand. If you are holding out in the hope that I will forget you… our time apart has only proliferated my feelings for you, Will. I do not foresee a change to this equation, only exponential growth.

I was just as surprised as you when I discovered that causing you pain also has an adverse effect on me. This is not the reason I regret what has occurred between us, but I found it a fascinating side effect nonetheless. My regret stems from my inability to control my own emotional outbursts towards the person with whom I am seeking a deeper connection. I understand that it must be difficult to trust my words when my actions reflect the opposite. I do not know if I would have gone through with my meal in Palermo, even if we hadn’t been so rudely interrupted. I have long considered Jack to be a friend, yet I would have killed him without a second thought. I can attest that it would have been very easy to kill you with the time I did have, but I couldn’t seem to make myself give you the depth of cut that would be required to end your life. Although I have harmed you, you have never been mortally wounded. It is not a coincidence, merely the realization that I cannot live without you in the world. Akin to your own sentiment, my life would prove to be a poorer place without knowing you exist somewhere within it.

You are also correct in believing that I’d enjoy stroking your scars, Will. I’d enjoy many things that concern you.

I say this to you as a man, not as your friend. I once believed, or chose to lie to myself about my intentions towards you. I had no idea how attached to you I would become, especially in the beginning. While my emotions may have stemmed from curiosity, it hasn’t remained so. I feel for you Will, deeply and irrevocably. I have felt for nobody except Mischa the entire duration of my existence. It is disconcerting and exhilarating in equal measure, and I have yet to fully come to terms with this realization.

You don’t need to pretend to be whole. Not with me. I prefer you the way you are; amassed scars and ghosts and grief. I do not wish for our time apart to change those aspects of you. Your melancholy can be cured by giving in to who you are, but I know you will need to do it in your own time. I will continue to be patient with you, Will. In the end, you will come to me. Until then, I’ll continue to watch the seasons change, if only to ask you about them.

Faithfully Yours,

**Hannibal Lecter**

***

The new orderly was a large man, larger than anyone else employed by the Baltimore Hospital. The moment they were introduced, Hannibal had to wonder if part of his appeal was this perceived deterrent. Many of the patients hadn’t made any attempts to contest his orders; Hannibal didn’t bother putting in the effort to think upon it. On the few occasions they had spoken, their conversations had been perfectly pleasant. There was an unconscious understanding between them: Hannibal would speak when he wished to do so and in return, Barney stayed out of his way and did nothing to provoke his ire. When required, Barney brought his meals without fear, although he wasn’t so foolish as to be incautious. 

When the orderly approached the glass, Hannibal looked up from where he sat behind his desk, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Good evening, Barney. I trust your classes went well today?” The large man nodded, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello, Doctor Lecter,” he murmured, pleasure plain on his face at the acknowledgement. “My classes were fine. I have an exam next Tuesday, though. I’m pretty nervous about it.” Hannibal nodded, the look on his face almost sympathetic.

“I can help you prepare if you’d like,” he offered. On which of your subjects is your exam?” Barney grinned.

“Anatomy,” he replied. “That would be great, sir. I really appreciate it.”

“Not at all,” Hannibal purred, standing. “For now, please do me the favor of delivering this letter to Doctor Bloom?” Barney nodded and approached the slot in the glass, waiting until Hannibal placed the sheaf of papers within. The doctor backed up a step and the papers were removed. The rules of proper prisoner etiquette were never broken.

As the orderly moved away to complete the task he’d been given, Hannibal called him back.

“Yes, sir?” the other man’s maroon eyes flashed with dangerous humor.

“Please ensure you hand those pages directly to Alana, even if you are sent to Frederick’s office. Are we clear?” The large man swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Ye- yes, sir. Of course.” Hannibal smiled, a great baring of teeth that glinted in the electric lights.

“And Barney? Do not let me catch you attempting to read my correspondence a second time. You will not appreciate the results.” The doctor turned and made his way back to his desk, their conversation at an end. 

Barney delivered the letter to Alana without so much as a glance at its contents. If his hands were trembling, Doctor Bloom was kind enough to keep her observations to herself.

* * *

The letter mocked him. Although innocuous in appearance, Will knew that whatever it contained, it would rip him apart.

If only he’d had been able to avoid the bottle, he could have continued to smash down his feelings, suppressing them in the box within his heart clearly marked with Hannibal’s name. He could have suppressed the urge to send the letter before he had a chance to read it, and all the nervous discomfort he felt would cease to exist.

But no. The alcohol had allowed him to bypass every internal security system that prevented such rash actions. He could remember enough of what had been contained within his words to know that he didn’t want to read the sheaf of pages waiting for him.

When it arrived, Will put it at the bottom of his drawer with the pile of missives from the doctor. He took Molly and Walter to the movies, then out for ice cream, his cheer feeling more forced with every second that passed. That evening, when they attempted to make love, he broke down and cried. Molly sat by his side, a soft, reassuring presence, the steady spot within the whirring of his mind. 

He couldn’t admit how much he hated it. He didn’t want her to understand. He wanted her anger, the fire and fury that must simmer beneath her skin. He couldn’t bear knowing that the letters he kept, reading and rereading them until the edges wore to tatters and the words contained within faded, didn’t bother her. He wanted her to be bothered that he didn’t belong solely to her.

Three days passed in a haze, his soul constricting with each moment. It wasn’t until he came home on Monday evening, weary to the bone and weak, that he fished the unopened envelope from the pile.

He took the bottle of whiskey with him to his desk, but didn’t dare take a sip as he unfolded the pages with shaking hands. 

His eyes burned in the low light of the fire as he read and reread the newest letter’s contents, his heart hammering as if trying to escape from his chest. It took time for the world to right itself.

He didn’t begin to feel steady until his own letter was folded into an envelope, and by the time he fell into bed, exhausted and relieved, the sun was already painting the horizon in salmon and gold.

His phone didn’t wake him for several hours and even then, Will couldn’t quite manage to feel apologetic for his isolation.

***

**April 19th**

Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hannibal,

God, I don’t even know where to begin. I feel like an utter ass for the last letter I sent, but you weren’t horrible about it. I was expecting… hell, I don’t know. Mockery, perhaps. Why didn’t you mock me? It would have made it easier to stop writing. Instead, I possess emotions that I don’t know how to process. You are right. I didn’t drink this time as I penned these words. Instead, I sat and tried to refrain from feeling as I do. At this point, I don’t know if I’m more honest with myself when I’m drunk, or if sobriety just makes the realization hurt that much more.

Out of curiosity, what term of endearment would you have used? Not that it matters, of course.

It isn’t surprising that isolation makes you yearn for a human connection. If it wasn’t me, for whom would you be reaching? Who would keep you from becoming a monster in more than just title? Would you be at risk for such behavior? I’ve chased psychopaths my entire career, yet I’ve never felt the need to understand them beyond their killing patterns. I do now, loathe as I am to admit it. Empathy and understanding are two sides of the same coin, but they’re still sides; separate and conjoined by humanity’s need for clarity. 

I am happy to report that my trees are in full bloom, or nearing it. I am unsure if they’ve ceased their mourning, or if I have. There was something cathartic about my previous letter, as if I let go of a part of me that was hurting, something that longed to be with you instead. I still rail against every fiber of me that reaches for you, but I don’t deny that I am reaching. I have stood outside, amidst the grove of which you speak, and closed my eyes. In my visions, you stand beside me. Sometimes, you’re covered in blood. Sometimes, your hand is in mine. I spend much of my time amidst the trees, just so I can find you there, waiting for me.

Speaking of trees… do you prefer to compare us to the moon? Light and dark at odds with one another, a constant shift in our phases? The moon is never in stasis, but it does have periods of total darkness. I will not agree that we are destined to meet again. I don’t know if I have the strength to face you, even if given the opportunity. Did Alana tell you that I’ve been asked to interview you on camera? I refused, of course. Not because I found it tasteless, although I did. You already know that, though. I refused because I don’t know what would happen if we were to be in the same room. I don’t know if everyone in the vicinity would survive the experience, especially you and me. You see it as inevitable but until I deem necessary, I can still take steps to prevent it.

I don’t know whether to laugh or be angry with you for your attempts to convince me that you haven’t tried, and succeeded to some degree, to isolate me from those who have previously showed an interest in my wellbeing. Jack? Alana? Abigail for God’s sake? What happened when they actually tried to care for me? You drove them away. If you had the influence, you’d do the same with Molly, but I don’t believe your reach to be quite that far. I understand that you would like for me to be happy. Happiness as long as you can control how and with whom. Do you not understand how deeply, pathologically controlling that makes you? Perhaps you view what I have as mediocrity, but I do not. I was comfortable with who I was and what I had before you. If I had enough time, I could feel that again without your influence. I want to live on the right side of things, Hannibal. You want to take that away from me. It’s likely the worst of what you wish for me.

The truth has always been difficult for us. I have not always been completely honest with you; not in my intentions, nor my actions. I can now admit that I also got caught up in my role, the game I tried to play with someone whose skills far surpass my own. I don’t have the heart to deceive with purpose. If that is your “almighty good”, then so be it. Perhaps its even the ideal image that I was raised to believe in. It took everything in me to hang onto my anger with you long enough to deceive you at all. You believed me when I told you Freddie Lounds was dead. To this day, I don’t know what I did that betrayed the truth of her mortality. As childish as it is to say… Hannibal, you started it. Had you told me that Abigail lived, I would have had no reason to feel so vindictive towards you. It hurts me that you could physically harm her to add credence to your alibi. I would not be able to take anything from her except her pain. You destroyed a piece of her before you killed her for your own selfish reasons. If you cast blame, make sure to hang onto your own. You have it all where she is concerned.

Had we the opportunity to tell our story to anyone, I would have told them that when we met, I loathed you. It wouldn’t be far from the truth. I didn’t want to know you but beyond that, I didn’t want you to try and help me. You pushed at my barriers until they shattered, faded away to nothing. Even when you made an attempt to destroy me, my life and my reputation, I couldn’t truly bring myself to use the word ‘hate’. There is a saying… you’d probably know it, but I don’t know its origin. Love and hate are two ends of the same breath, or something like that. If I were to hazard a guess, we are currently in the pause between the inhale and exhale. I cannot forget you, but I don’t want to be with you either. Part of me still needs to heal from what we were if there is ever to be anything else.

Ahh. I should have known that your motives, no matter the execution, would prove to be purely selfish, even when it comes to Alana. To this day, I cannot believe you had her fooled but then again, you blinded us all. Your response is almost disappointing.

You are correct. You’ve become a focus of convenience for my past behavior. Ever since I met you, I’ve felt some cosmic imbalance within myself. I don’t know if it’s because you showed me the darkness within me, or if I simply prefer to assign blame to you. I know I had my own problems before you started assisting the Bureau, but they’ve certainly been exponentially exacerbated since you’ve chosen to interfere with my day to day. If you recall, the first cage to hold me was the one you ensured I’d be incarcerated within. There is a good possibility that part of me never escaped the hospital. I can imagine that if you close your eyes and were able to concentrate on the silence, you may still find me within the walls there. If you ask nicely, Alana might let you sit in my old cell for a time. That space may help you feel closer to me. I haven’t been the same since my time spent there. I don’t believe it will ever leave me.

There is nothing that you can say that will convince me that you would have ceased your actions in Italy before they became irreversible. Had the Polizia been even a moment longer, I would have died in your dining room. You may not have had the chance to consume me, but it wouldn’t have prevented you from committing the act that would have taken my life. Perhaps you would have spent what remains of your days mourning your choices, but the end result would have remained the same. I agree that the smile you left me was not meant to be fatal, only painful and slow to recover. It aches when it rains, or when I sit for extended periods of time. You and the pain you bring are always with me. I’m sure some part of you is pleased to know that.

Your perceived attachment to me, whether it be nostalgia or sentiment, cannot be trusted. I know that you are a serial killer. I do not know if you are a new kind of psychopath, one that can feel emotion as deeply as anyone else as long as the focus is on something you desire, or if you have me fooled, just as you have everyone within the hospital under your thumb without their knowledge. Should we have the opportunity to discuss your emotions in person, I may gain some clarity to what you are experiencing. For now, I will guard the parts of me that can be hurt by your proclamations, especially if there is a chance that they prove to be a ruse.

You say you like me the way I am. It’s because you molded me into who I am now. You’ve given me my ghosts, my scars, and a great deal of my grief. I am haunted by you, and by Abigail. Our past hovers in my peripherals, a thin curtain keeping it from melting over and encompassing the present. My forehead and stomach bear the marks of your inability to contain yourself; my mind bears more damage than my body will ever contain. I don’t want to lose you Hannibal, but neither am I able to live with you. Not if I want to heal from the damage you have caused. Should you truly have my best interests in mind, it would be prudent for you to leave me be for a time. 

If you are correct… I will come to you.

**Will Graham**


	5. June

**June 11th**

Written within Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello, my darling Will.

Perhaps you will find this greeting too familiar. You asked what term I would use; you now have your answer. When we speak in person, rest assured I shall call you by the same… when we have time to be alone together. Perhaps I will then shorten it to darling; I’m certain you can grow accustomed to it. May I ask why you had the interest if it does not matter? Perhaps it’s that it does, but you are loathe to admit it. Believe me, Will. I will do everything within my power to keep your secrets safe.

You must forgive me for the length of time between my letters. There was an incident that involved both another patient and Frederick’s inability to take no for an answer. Before your mind spins wildly out of control, rest assured it isn’t what you are conjuring in that so vivid imagination of yours. Our esteemed Doctor Chilton decided that he wanted the opportunity to try his luck at asking me the sort of questions that might sate his curiosity and fill in the blanks for his book. Because I refuse to speak with him, he believed it to be in his best interests to ply me with medication before attempting to do so; not an uncommon practice amongst psychiatrists that deal with difficult patients, as I’m sure you remember. He had not realized how easily pills can be palmed and discarded, and I made the effort to ensure none of what he prescribed was ingested. I am still uncertain of his intentions, and thought it best to circumvent whatever scheme he had planned, for my own safety. This has proven to be wise; Frederick sought to delve into the deeper memories of my childhood with the use of EMDR therapy; a method I once used on you when you were suffering with your brain fever. I have little desire to confess to him anything of note and when he finally came to understand that I had not taken what he had given me, I was able to ensure with few words that he would not attempt such a stunt again.

No, I did not threaten his life. I found I didn’t need to resort to such tactics. I’m as surprised as I’m sure you are.

While the time that has passed has not been wholly the fault of this incident, it lays the groundwork for what was to come. Doctor Chilton has been attempting his less than savory tactics of manipulation on many of his patients, and I happened to bring to the attention of one of his more violent subjects that perhaps it shouldn’t be tolerated. The patient in question attacked Frederick at their next session, and although he had no proof that I was at fault for the man’s behavior, I was nonetheless blamed for the outcome. My possessions, including my writing implements, were confiscated as a result. I have been without them for some time.

While I do not wish to alarm you, I should inform you that it is quite likely that Frederick has been reading our correspondence before passing it along to you. I can tell you with utter certainty that he has not read any of your letters to me, but I cannot be sure if he has read mine to you. I believe he grows bored of my silence and seeks information where he believes it to be easily procurable. While I cannot fault his cunning, I am already weary of his feeble attempts at cracking my pathology. He’s much the teenager fumbling for the clasp of a girl’s bra; he’d never find the hook, because it isn’t where he suspects it to be. 

As such, Alana has taken up the mantle of bullying him into returning most of my possessions. He has yet to give me back my drawings or my books. You’ve been a patient under his care, Will. How long do you think he will continue such childish and tedious behavior? I do not know to whom he answers, but I suspect it will take the influence of someone he does not wish to upset for me to have what is mine returned to me. As I do not have many visitors that are well acquainted with me outside the world of academia, I can say that it may be some time yet.

I can say with absolute certainty that I am happy to be penning words of fondness to you once again. As much as I missed being able to compile my thoughts into a link that forges our deeper connections, I have all but forgotten the pure, unadulterated joy of the sound of a pen to parchment. I missed it more than I realized.

Onto other things.

Because I have been without for some time, the outside world beckons more than usual. While I often speak to you of what I can sense in others, as summer draws closer, many are overcome with the lethargy that comes with the oppressive heat we wade through each year. When my time comes, I plan to relish every moment I have in the sun.

I must confess, your previous letter baffles me. Why would I choose to bring attention to your most forthright and honest correspondence in any semblance of mocking? It is not for me to judge the quality of the contents of your letters; I am grateful to receive them and loathe to do anything that might give you a reason you to stop. The selfish part of me would say I would miss reading your words, even when laced with vitriol. The psychiatrist would not deprive you of the much needed opportunity to unburden yourself. Did you know that I read your letters in your voice? I find the memory of your pitch and timbre comforting, and often use it to lull me to sleep. I have a suggestion that might help you find your own peace. If you can, I would encourage you to take a trip to my office. I am sure it still contains all that would have been unworthy of police scrutiny, including the furniture on which you and I held our long discussions . You’re welcome to use the space as you see fit; it will never be sold, as I am the sole owner. If it helps you to center yourself as you write, or provides a private place for you to gather your thoughts, please feel free to do so. I know you often visit my home. Think of my favorite space within and look around. You will find the location to my spare key. Take it if you wish, and use it well.

Your questions about my isolation are intriguing; perhaps you will be surprised by my response. You want to know who kept me from becoming a monster before I met you? If you look at my track record, my vast list of accomplishments before Jack walked into my office and asked for my assistance, thus placing you in my path… the answer should present itself without difficulty. If you and I were in no way connected, I would not be here, paying for crimes for which I feel no remorse. Put quite simply, I would reach for nobody. You are the only person to have gotten so completely beneath my skin, giving me reason to do what you would deem the ‘right’ thing. My feelings for you are frustrating and inconvenient, yet I do not believe I’d change it now, even if I could. Your empathy allows you to understand me and those like me better than we often understand ourselves, yet it hurts you to be so drawn to the darkness. It is that empathetic understanding that lures me in, brings me to you. You have the misconception that there would be another; the truest answer I can give is one you may not want to hear. 

There is only you.

I miss your trees, Will. I miss the clean scent of growing things on the air, surrounding me when I turn my face up to the sun. I wait in eager anticipation for such things to be possible once again. As such, I’d like to speak for a moment on your dreams. You say you see us often amongst the trees. Which vision scares you more; the one with my hand in yours, or when I am covered in blood? If it comforts you, I have often dreamed of you as well, although the nature of our nighttime wanderings seems completely at odds. Mine are peaceful; places that hold fond memories with you at my side, experiencing all the world has to offer. Yours seem determined to denounce me a monster, yet in your waking hours, you still search for me in a place you know I’ll be found superimposed on what currently exists. May I ask why?

Your comparison of us to the moon is more accurate than plant life. Our current predicament leaves us both cold and distant, and although there are moments of light and clarity, much is still shrouded in darkness and doubt. Oddly enough, although you see me as the dark side of the moon, I find myself the one soaking up the light of the sun. I live my life with a clear acceptance of who I am; you still refuse to admit you have a monster growing inside you. You need only let yourself go, release the guilt that keeps you so stubbornly from me, to realize that what you are doing now is futile. You stand amidst your own lands and search for me, yet you find it difficult to believe we will see one another again. You like to call it a lack of strength; I would name it cowardice. It is an unbecoming quality, one that you must overcome on your own. I can only hope that when the time comes, you can truly understand that we are not so different as you would like to believe. The blood on your hands is just as red as the blood on mine.

Alana spoke to me of the interview when the same reporter came to the hospital to request my cooperation. I refused outright even before I knew of your involvement; I do not need my deeds splashed garishly across any other papers when Tattle Crime has deemed me worthy of such coverage. I do not give interviews anymore, and am not the least surprised that you refused to give one as well. Even if you had granted the interview I would have refused, but in this, it seems we are in agreement; privacy is a vastly understated jewel.

For what reason would I have to isolate you from others who seek your company, Will? You do just fine on your own in that regard. You may want to blame me for the mess that you have created of your social life, but in all honesty you’re much like the shelter dogs you collect; quick to believe the worst in others because of the mistreatment from a few. You isolate yourself and lash out at those who seek any kind of closeness with you. The devolving relationship you had with Jack was his own undoing. He finally pushed you too far. Alana attempted to gain your affections by falling into bed with me; I believe she often thought of you when we were mid-passion. Abigail… you asked me not to speak of her. If you choose to follow this line to its bitter end, you may be unhappy with the result. But Jack and Alana…they chose their care in service of themselves; you were a crutch for their own desires, because you give without thought to what it will do to you. Do not blame me for their poor choices. I have done enough harm on my own to take on the burden of theirs as well.

To your other accusations…do you not understand how wrong you are about my motives? I do not seek to control you. I want you to be happy, but I also want the rarest kind; I want you to be unabashedly happy. Should you choose the safety Molly provides, you would grow bored and tired within ten years. Ten good, long years wasted on clinging to a life that will never truly belong to you, because you cannot be honest with her about who you are. Knowing “enough” is not the same as understanding, and you know it. You can be right, be just, and still stay true to your nature. I found a way to deal with my urges, and I punish the rude; I have no doubt that if you gave yourself time, you’d find your own calling. To be clear, the need was already inside you before I met you. I may have coaxed it to the surface, but I had nothing to do with its origin. I did not force you to murder Randall. I did not hold the gun to Clark’s face and make him beg for his life. You made those decisions on your own; you will continue to find influence in what you deem justice. Yours is perhaps closer to God’s own form than mine. Even as I write the words, I realize how little we truly know of one another. If you could spend but moments inside the walls of my memory palace, you would understand, truly understand what I feel for you. If only we could be so lucky.

Freddie Lounds… How I wish you’d have ended her. She poisons everything around her, and doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us. I have to admit, I am surprised you need to ask how I knew she was alive. I’m sure if you took the time to think on it, you’d have it worked out but this one time, I will give you a pass and tell you. Her scent was upon you. At some point within a 24 hour window, you were close enough to her that the smell of her shampoo clung to your skin like a lover’s kiss. While it shouldn’t have incited jealousy in me, I’m ashamed to admit that it did. She is unworthy of my ire, although it seems I cannot keep my head where you are concerned.

I will say only this, because my heart can only take so much. Abigail was willing to give up something for what she wanted most in the world, Will. Whether this is because I guided her towards the necessity… I will not deny that I played some role. In the end, she chose to allow me to take a bit of flesh to help me in my cause, because she believed in the future I laid out for us. She wanted to be a family, Will. I may have started the dance, but your decisions ended her life, although now I know it all could have been avoided had we been honest and forthcoming instead of masking our desires with poor attempts at subterfuge. We do not know enough of one another to gauge the buttons we cannot push, but betrayal has always been near the top of my list. It has always lead to unpredictable outcomes, ones I have never been quite able to control. I deeply regret what happened in her instance. I wanted you both; I lost you instead. I will feel her loss as acutely as you do for the rest of my days.

I do not disbelieve your loathing at first sight. I could feel it rolling from you in waves, almost tangible in its potency. I knew from the beginning that you did not want my help, but I was most interested in you and unwilling to give up the opportunity to know you better. You fascinated me because you were so broken and yet so unwilling to admit it. You wanted to be whole; you chose to stitch the pieces of your ragged soul back together over and over, even though you were so obviously worn thin in places that could no longer be patched. I did not see your capacity for darkness until much later; I saw instead the opportunity to glean some information on how the FBI works in the field. My interest in you deepened after our first breakfast to be true, but I could have walked away relatively unscathed. I do not believe that to be true any longer. To lose you would break something in me. Something irreplaceable.

The inhale of your metaphorical breath happened much more quickly for me, although I did not possess enough experience in such matters to understand what was happening. You began your breath on the loathing end; but you inhaled nearly as quickly as I. You still refuse to see how inexorably we are tied together. While you believe us to be caught in the middle, I see us turning our foundations towards passion. Of what kind, I have yet to guess. Know this, Will. Whatever becomes of us; whether we go up in flames, find a way to coexist, love or hate, it will be done with our mutual agreement. We cannot afford one sided decisions any longer.

My attachment to you is not perceived, as you put it. It is a reality with which you are stubbornly unwilling to come to terms. In the absence of my other distractions, I sit on the cold floor of my cell and search for you in my memory palace. I have spent some time amongst my most uncomfortable interactions with you; chiefly the two times I’ve attempted to bring about your demise. I am thoroughly convinced I could not have eaten you. I may have wanted to, but I was already hesitating when we faced the onslaught of the men Mason Verger purchased to capture me. It took me many trips within to come to terms with my emotions where you are concerned, but I am absolutely certain of them. I cannot live in a world without you in it. I do not understand why I cannot remove myself from the emotions that have entangled me, but the harder I fight them, the tighter they engulf me. My conclusion is I am meant to find a way to be with you. If that takes time, so be it.

Do me the small favor of visiting my office. Pen your next letter to me there, without alcohol to fuel your emotional state. Simply use it as you would your stream. Sit quietly. Breathe me in. Write what comes to mind instead of attempting to sift through the wreckage of what was. Tell me everything, and let us begin the task of forging a new path. We will both be better for it. When I have the remainder of my belongings returned to me, I have a gift for you, but Frederick is determined to see me either apologize or beg. It will take longer than he believes for either to come to fruition.

Miss me, Will. Miss me as I miss you. Take the time you need, but do not fight so hard to keep yourself from me. Write to me when you have the time to spend within the confines we spent our most intimate moments together. I have no doubt that you will find it most… illuminating.

Yours,

**Hannibal Lecter**

***

It took days to find the key. Although Will knew Hannibal better than he knew anyone, the purposeful vagueness in the doctor’s words left him without so much as a clue to the location of where it may be hidden. The letter Hannibal had penned was beginning to fray around the edges due to the amount of times the profiler spent studying it, attempting to understand the message left for him between the lines.

It took two shots of whiskey, a quiet house and a stroke of drunken genius for it to finally click. _My favorite space_ the letter had said. The profiler had taken it to mean the room hidden within the walls of Hannibal’s home that housed the operating table that he used to carve meat from his victims. The more he searched there, the more frustrating it became. There was nothing left; nothing that the forensics team had not opened and perused, cataloged and stored away for future examination. The space now felt tainted, as if others had stepped within sacred ground and pissed on the floor in defiance.

But it wasn’t the hidden room below at all. When he finally understood, Will wanted to clap himself on the forehead, groan with the obviousness of it. _Of course he wouldn_ _’t pick somewhere where it would be collected. He would choose someplace much more in plain sight, knowing it would be so mundane, it would be absolutely safe._ When he puzzled it out, it took less than a half hour to find the spare key, wedged on a hook in the upper cabinet by his stove, nestled comfortably between the bottles of cinnamon and cumin. 

A quick perusal showed that the doctor had, indeed, kept his spices in alphabetical order. The knowledge sent Will’s heart thrashing wildly in his chest, his palms sweating ever so slightly. It was far more affecting than it should have been.

It took another four days for him to gain the courage to use the key on Hannibal’s office building. He held his breath as the lock turned smoothly, unwilling to dare hope that the scent would be the same. He walked into the small entry meant for patients, glancing around at the familiar surroundings with an ache he did not know how to process. His hands shook as he pushed the door to the office space open, his lungs contracting in his distress. _It won_ _’t be the same. Don’t bother with thoughts that it might be. Know that it won’t feel the way you want it to._

He didn’t need to turn on the light. A single glance let him know none of the furniture had been removed; all the books they had not burned in their wild attempt at escape still lined the walls. Will took a breath, and collapsed to the floor. 

It was exactly the same as it had been; it felt like coming home.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the floor and wept; minutes or hours passed by unnoticed. He cried until there were no tears left, let himself feel the loss of the man who belonged safely ensconced within the walls that now hugged around him as if they’d missed him. Even when he stood on shaky legs, he didn’t bother with the lights, instead turning to the fireplace to light a fire. A single page from his own notebook remained within the ashes; Will carefully removed it from the grate and folded it amongst the pages of the letter in his pocket, the ink wearing thin from each time he reached for it.

When the fire was high enough, he took his old seat and unlocked the briefcase he’d brought with him, removing a notebook in a hard case and a Mont Blanc pen he had received as a graduation present. Breathing in the familiar scent of burning wood and leather, Will bent his head to the page and began to write.

***

**June 27th**

Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Hannibal,

You’ll have to forgive my for the lack of familiarity in my letters to you; I’m already finding it quite disconcerting that I can’t help but obey you, even when we lack proximity. I would love to say that I mind your choice in terms of endearment, but I can’t bring myself to do that, either. There is something almost comforting in your choice; some old world charm I can’t help but be drawn to. I can hear your voice when I read it; the inflection of comfortable familiarity that makes you sound almost fond. It does not matter of course, because I don’t want it to matter. If I let it mean something to me, I’d be admitting how much I miss you, how much I truly care for you. Caring makes it real. Do you understand?

I’ll confess that I began to worry when I didn’t hear from you in May. Although last year’s letters seemed to be far more sporadic, your monthly correspondence has since arrived like clockwork; when I received no word, I thought something may have happened to you. I made some discreet inquiries with Alana and discovered much of what occurred. Frederick, it seems, has not learned from his past mistakes, chiefly when it concerns delving into minds that do not belong to him. He has become desperate as of late; he does not have all of the material he needs for his book, and his editor is breathing down his neck for its completion. I cannot say I’m surprised he resorted to such tactics, no matter how distasteful. I am sorry for him that he chose you as his subject matter; he had to know you wouldn’t speak with him without coercion. Frankly he’s damn lucky there wasn’t a worse outcome to his actions.

I can’t believe you possess the restraint to keep from threatening him, but I’m sure you found other ways to ensure he won’t attempt anything else. Frederick has always thought himself more clever than those around him; the proverbial lion in the room. It will do him some good to understand that he is nothing but chum for the sharks. One who possesses the qualities he believes he has does not need to tell others; they know. If he has his way, he will hold onto your possessions for as long as it takes to get you to break down and give him what he wants; a chance to see inside your mind. He’s wanted it for as long as he’s known you, because you are the man he wishes he could be. I sincerely hope your patience holds out. He doesn’t deserve what he’s asking of you.

When asking you the question of your network of people and restraint… I never thought about the fact that you were the Ripper before we met. You have spent so much time as the monster in the story, it must have been refreshing to walk around in a person suit for a time. Did you find it constricting to pretend with Jack? Were you ever without the suit when we spent time together? I have to wonder how much of you I truly got to see. What of Bedelia? She knew what you are before you fled to Italy with her. Did she know just how much danger she was in, or did you allow her some semblance of safety due to the fact that she was your confidant? I refuse to call her your psychiatrist; we both know you manipulated her far more than she helped you. I have an inkling that you always need to have the upper hand so you can feel some sense of control, but I also know I’ve seen you when that control has slipped. When you left me with the wound in my stomach, you asked me if I believed I could change you, and I told you I already have. Have you come to believe me? Does it hurt you to realize that I had enough influence over you to influence the way you think? Does it scare you?

The vision of you with me as I walk with my dogs has not left me, Hannibal. I still see you clearly every time I stroll amidst the forests that surround my home. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes, I take your hands to gently clean them of gore, just as you did for me when I killed Randall Tier. Sometimes, I watch you disappear into the brush; a stag at home amongst the trees. When I am there, you are with me. The least of my concerns is the moments you are soaked in blood. There is something soft in your eyes; a gleam that begs my understanding. I am more afraid of the times that I am simply holding your hand; it leaves me wishing you were there with me to experience the change in the seasons. You knew that already, though. You know why I search for you in familiar places as well; some part of me will never be able to let you go.

Do you really think of me as a coward, all because I refuse to come when you call? I am not a trained dog, Hannibal. I am a man; conflicted with which path I wish to traverse. The moon and all of its sides have lead to the coined term lunacy for a reason. Perhaps going back to you and all you wish to offer me is madness. I don’t know. I want so much to remain who I was before we met, but you’ve changed me and I do not know how to reverse time. My hands and heart are colored by you; a stain that will never wash away. I do not know what life we could build upon the pyre of those we have decimated. I haven’t a clue of what would become of the world if we were partners within it. I can only hope that a countermeasure would be provided; if divine intervention were to come for us, we could not be victorious.

For you to deny that you have driven others that seek my attention away is the closest to an outright lie you’ve told me. I’m disappointed in you, Doctor Lecter. Although I cannot deny that the shambles of my social life are my own doing, you must admit that you are responsible for the destruction of my professional integrity. Jack sought you out to make me better, stronger than I was before I knew you. Instead, you turned me into a monster that was willing to give in to his baser urges. Alana would have made a good friend, and perhaps if it hadn’t been for your interference, we would have become confidants at the very least. What would you say of Abigail? You took her from me, took her life as surely as I ensured you turned yourself over to the police. She is your fault, utterly and completely. Nothing you say will change that. Perhaps Jack and Alana both added to the degradation of our associations, but you were the spider on the wall, the whisper in their ears. 

If I likened you to the Devil, would you take it as an insult? He was, after all, the most beautiful of God’s chosen, no matter how far he fell.

You do vie for control; it’s a blind spot for you. You say you want me to be happy, but you still want to dictate the level of happiness I achieve. Should I choose to “waste” time with Molly, that should be up to me. Maybe it will take me ten years to rid myself of your influence. Perhaps it will take the rest of my life. How I choose to spend that time is of no consequence to you, yet you want so badly to make my life into your vision of perfection, you orchestrate circumstances to bring about your ideal outcome at the cost of everyone around you. Maybe what I want is “enough”. Complacency seems the perfect speed after the insanity I faced at your side. You refuse to give me the chance to mourn you, because if I can find a way to say goodbye, there is the very real possibility that I will no longer need you. That’s what scares you, isn’t it? That you could be replaced with someone you deem mundane. I don’t want to be a killer. I cannot imagine myself with a killer. I have found other methods to bring peace to my life; you wreak only havoc. I am not certain that you could find it within yourself to be still, even if it meant your survival. 

Your words of feelings mean nothing when you refuse to voice them, by the way. I can’t spend time within your memories. If you want me to understand, paint me a picture.

Our existence, as it is, is discordant. The deep breath between love and hate suspends us in a constant flux of warring emotional upheaval. You wish to believe that I love you. I want you to hate me, to choose to forget. When you walk the floors of your memory palace, I want you to find others there, but not a whisper of my footfalls. We remain tied together because of our refusal to release one another, but it is not harmonious. You want passion between us; all I can see on the horizon is destruction. Your stalwart refusal to name the emotions you feel only proves to me that you are still trying your hand at clever manipulation. We cannot be together and be so at odds. We will tear each other apart. Unless that is your ultimate goal, I do not understand how you think we can be more than what we have already been and thrive.

I should probably tell you, because I know you will ask… I am currently seated in your office. I did as you requested, but you’d be ashamed to know that it took me far longer to find your key than it should have. I didn’t read between your words as concisely as you believed possible, and I had to spend many hours working out the clues. I can’t deny that being here brings up emotions for me that are difficult to manage; even more than your home. We spent so many hours here trying to outsmart one another, trying to gain the upper hand. I still don’t know which of us has come out ahead. Are you simply where you know you need to be, or did I do right by those you’ve killed? How can I believe that you are a monster when I have taken it upon myself to become surrounded with all that you are? I hide from the woman I am growing to love to find some peace in the man I can’t bring myself to forget. Please, try to answer without the need to gain something for yourself, if that’s possible for you. 

I hate you, Hannibal. I hate what you have changed in me. I hate that I can’t truly hate you. I hate that I miss you; the sound of your voice, the slight curl of your lip when you don’t want to smile, the way you pour coffee or close your eyes when breathing in the scent of fine wine. I hate that my decisions regarding you have yet to be made, that I still have the opportunity to correct my mistakes before Italy. I should have left with you then. Being amongst all we shared now when you can’t be here with me is worse than admitting that I can’t let you go. It hurts, and it heals.

I have taken over your space for now. I hope to find some understanding as I sit at your desk, writing these words. I don’t believe it will happen until we meet face to face. I can still hold out hope that I am strong enough to avoid the temptation, but even I know I am growing weaker. Until the choice is thrust upon me, I will content myself with your ghosts.

**Will Graham**

***

“Please sit with your hands behind your back. I will cuff you once you are in position, and we will begin the process of returning your possessions to your cell.” Hannibal folded himself gracefully to the floor, crossing his wrists at the small of his back. Barney cuffed his hands neatly, attaching them to the bars without issue. After checking he was secure, the orderly nodded to the workers holding the crates containing the remainder of Hannibal’s library. The men moved forward, making quick work of depositing the boxes within the cell. Several returned moments later with sheafs of paper; Hannibal’s drawings, it seemed, remained intact.

When the work was complete, Barney released the psychiatrist’s restraints and bid him forward, offering a manifest through the slot that separated them. Hannibal took them without a word, his eyes scanning the list hungrily. 

It took him several minutes to realize they had been joined by another individual; the scent of her perfume wafted through his senses, bringing a cruel smile to his face.

“Alana,” he greeted without feeling. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you down to my humble slice of hell?” The woman in question moved forward, a sheaf of papers and a sealed envelope held aloft in her elegant grip.

“Hello, Hannibal. I see the workers have finalized the return of your belongings. Have you had a chance to ensure nothing is missing yet?” The doctor shook his head, eyes still reading over the list.

“As you can see, the work has just been completed. I haven’t had the opportunity to unpack just yet.” The silence that fell was thick enough to cut through.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asked dismissively. The sound of the delivery slot brought his attention fully to the other side of the partition.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Alana replied, her voice soft; contrite. “I have brought your latest letter from Will Graham. Unopened.” Hannibal lifted an eyebrow and stepped forward to collect the papers from the drawer.

“And for what reason is it unopened?” he asked, placing the envelope gently on his desk. Alana sighed and shifted her weight to her good leg. The cane she kept clutched in her hand barely seemed to help her at all; Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for her pain.

“Frederick’s antics have been brought to the attention of the APA council. Until his inquest, you are to be given access to your correspondence without it being examined, as long as the senders are on your approved list.” The second eyebrow raised to join the first.

“And Will is on the approved list?” Alana nodded tiredly.

“He is now, seeing as it was he who brought Frederick’s behavior to the council. He also petitioned for the return of your belongings, and was quite adamant that you are to remain outside of Doctor Chilton’s care. Therefore, your primary evaluation falls to me, and I am willing to let you exist within these walls for now, just as you are. I have no desire to attempt to gain anything from you, as I would much rather be left to run the ward as I see fit.” Hannibal nodded, his heart thumping against his ribs. _Will._

“As you wish, Alana.” He turned back to the manifest, unwilling to allow her to see the emotions he couldn’t keep from his face. _Will did this. Ensured my belongings were returned. Demanded that Chilton be kept from my confinement. He did this for me._

He waited until Alana’s heels clicked away before depositing the list on top of one of the boxes. Collecting the envelope in shaking hands, the doctor folded himself into his chair by the fireplace before tearing it open. 

It was after sunset before he moved again.


End file.
